Bound By The Don's Bloody Bargain

OLIVIA'S POV I knew something was wrong the moment I stepped into the apartment. The lights were off, the door slightly open, and the air felt heavy. I called out my brother’s name, but no answer came. My heart started racing. I walked slowly and carefully, like someone was watching me. Then I saw him, my brother, sitting on the bare floor, head in his hands, eyes red. “What happened?” I asked, kneeling beside him. He raised his head. I saw his face. It was swollen and he had a bleeding nose. I offered him a tissue. I helped him clean himself up. He looked at me like he had already given up. He was helpless. “I messed up,” he whispered. “They’re going to kill me.” My stomach dropped. “Who?” He didn’t speak, he just handed me a note. It was short. On the note, there was an address. There was a time. And there was one name with a signature. That one name rang a bell. It was Luciano Romano. I had heard of him. Everyone had. He was cold. He was rich. He was deadly. And a lead

The sky outside was grey when I followed Luciano down the hallway, the kind of grey that makes you feel like something heavy is coming, maybe rain, maybe something worse, I couldn’t tell. He didn’t say a word. He just walked ahead like he expected me to know where we were going, and honestly, I didn’t, but I walked closely behind him.I realised that there was something about the way he moved. It was sharp and fast like his whole life was dependent on one big mission.He took a turn and stopped at a black door, plain but different. This was the kind of door that doesn’t look important until you notice the lock. It was thick and shiny, like whatever’s behind it needs to be protected. Protected from intruders and scavengers, I suppose. He pulled out a key from his pocket, unlocked it without a glance back at me, and pushed the door open.Inside was a small room. It had just a table, two chairs, and shelves filled with files. It looked boring, quiet, but the kind of quiet that hides

I didn’t sleep again. My eyes stayed open staring at the ceiling. The shadows in the room moved slowly. As the hours passed my chest felt tight like something heavy was sitting on it. I didn’t know what was happening to me or why I couldn’t breathe right. When I was alone in the dark, the things I’d seen yesterday kept playing in my head. The guns. The money. The way Luciano never blinked when people bowed to him like he was some kind of king.And maybe he was. Maybe this world had kings and he was one of them. A cold, ruthless, and powerful one at that.Morning light slipped through the curtains soft and gold. I didn’t move for a while, but when I finally sat up, the silence in the house felt different, like it was holding its breath.I opened the door and stepped into the hallway. It was empty. The air was still. There were no footsteps. No voices. Nothing. I walked slowly toward the stairs and heard a faint sound like a whisper or a hum, and I followed it.Downstairs, the living

The intruder remained silent, his icy demeanor undeterred. Without warning, he closed the gap between us in a seamless movement, seizing me with a forceful grip that left no room for resistance. He hoisted me effortlessly over his shoulder, and I felt a jolt of terror as my stomach plummeted, my perspective flipping wildly upside down.As he strode toward the concealed entrance hidden beneath a lavish rug, disorientation washed over me. My surroundings blurred into a dizzying whirl of colors and shapes while he navigated the space with practiced ease, each step confident and measured. With a swift motion, he unveiled the hidden panel, and before I could process the shift, we plunged into the enveloping darkness of the tunnel below.The air grew thick and clammy, saturated with the earthy scent of damp stone and moss, and the only sound echoing around us was the soft, rhythmic thud of his footsteps against the cold, hard ground. I squirmed, desperate to escape his unyielding grasp, but

Chapter 8 Matteo pov I let out a deep, throaty chuckle as I silenced my phone for what felt like the hundredth time that evening. The incessant ringing had transformed into a symphony of annoyance, each call a new crescendo of irritation that I longed to cut off. Whoever was on the other end was relentless, battering me with persistence, refusing to take no for an answer. I couldn’t help but revel in their frustration, my grin widening with each call that went unanswered. But the game was about to change. With a flick of my finger, I answered the call, my voice dropping to a low, menacing growl. “What?” I barked, dismissing any notion of pleasantries. The voice on the other end was panicked, stumbling over itself in a rush to get the words out. “Boss, it’s me. Oh God, boss, we have a problem.” My amusement evaporated in an instant, replaced by an unsettling twist in my gut. Flynn was one of my most level-headed men, typically unflappable and always steady under pressure. Whatever